


More Like "Liar Or Dumbass"

by ReverseMousetrap



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: College era, Drinking Games, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Truth or Dare, gayperion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-05 21:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18837088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverseMousetrap/pseuds/ReverseMousetrap
Summary: Vaughn has never felt like he belongs. Rhys has never questioned that he does.When Vaughn reluctantly accompanies Rhys to a party, things take an unexpected turn.





	1. Dare

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extended version of a tumblr post I made [here](https://reversemousetrap.tumblr.com/post/176151402374/mini-fic-anything-but-truth)!

To Vaughn’s surprise, he almost doesn’t regret coming to the party. There’s six of them in this little splinter group: him, Rhys and an assortment of the beautiful people all sprawled out on the floor or propped up on beanbags, ignoring the music thumping in the next room and working their way through a case of hard ciders that taste like candy. He’s holding his own even though he’s never met any of these people - Courtney in particular has taken to him like he's a three-legged stray puppy - and he almost feels like a normal college kid for once in his life.

Then they go and ruin it by playing the worst game ever invented.

"Vaughn's new, he goes first!" Jess shrieks. Her boyfriend Niko pretends to cover his ears and she gives him a playful nudge in the ribs.

Vaughn looks to Rhys for guidance, but he just rubs his hands together in unrestrained glee, the traitor. "Sorry, bro, it’s the rules. Truth or dare?"

Given the choice he'd like to sink into the plush carpet and reappear on another planet halfway across the galaxy. In the meantime he opts for what seems like the less dangerous option. "Um, truth, I guess."

Wriggling deeper into his lime-green beanbag, Rhys thinks for a moment. "Have you ever had a crush on a professor?"

"Laaame," says Courtney, but she doesn't object further.

"I…" Vaughn clears his throat. He can feel the colour rising in his cheeks, and he realises  that Truth may not be the easy cop-out he thought. "Ah, yeah."

They cheer. It gives him a rush. If he’s trapped in a terrible college movie, at least he’s not completely doomed to be the one-note fat loser.

"Details. Now," says Rhys.

To hell with it - he feels bold. "Professor Chu, in first year. I used to pretend I was having trouble with the assignments just so I could go to his office hours."

"Ha! I _knew_ it."

He wonders what he point of asking was in that case, but he's grateful to his friend for throwing him a softball. Especially when the next round has Amy whisking her bra out from under her shirt, swinging it around her head like a lasso and tossing it behind the couch.

The others make revelations which might be embarrassing if he knew who they were talking about. Jess re-enacts a scene from a movie he pretends to have seen. As nice as they're all being, laughing at his jokes and passing him drink after drink without him even needing to ask, he still feels like he's been haphazardly pasted into a yearbook full of strangers.

Soon enough they've gone around the circle and it's Rhys' turn. He looks blissfully drunk. “Alright, alright,” he mutters, smoothing his hair back. “Dare.”

Courtney peers thoughtfully over the rim of her bottle, a sly grin forming on her face as she glances between the two of them. “I dare you…to kiss Vaughn.”

He can feel the blood drain from his face as soon as she says it. His first thought is that she’s doing it to punish Rhys for bringing his pet nerd, but then Amy throws her hands up and cheers, and he wonders if this is just their kind of normal. Courtney is giving him an almost invisible smirk. He loves her and hates her at the same time.

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Vaughn says hoarsely, clearing his throat and looking at the floor – but Rhys is already crawling across the shag carpet like a cat, watching him through half-lidded eyes, and he’s trapped. When Rhys puts a hand on the back of his neck, one finger toying with the ends of his hair, he finds himself tilting his head and holding his breath…

“It’s the rules.”

He's always figured that everyone who meets Rhys is at least a little bit in love with him. Now he's starting to wonder if that's just his excuse.

They touch.

Rhys' lips are maddeningly soft, the scent of his trusty vanilla chapstick suddenly overwhelming. Vaughn can't quite believe he isn't dreaming, frozen in place as his brain catches up and tries to remember everything he's ever read about kissing – he wants to play it cool and at the same time he wants to grab him and kiss him back but he can’t focus and all his senses are occupied and his heart is racing –

“Make out!” squeals one of the girls, barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. Rhys giggles. Vaughn almost passes out.

Then Rhys pulls him just a fraction closer, running the tip of his tongue across Vaughn’s mouth teasingly slow, and he surrenders completely. Before he knows it, he has his arms around his friend and their lips are moving together - softly at first but growing in intensity as he lets Rhys and his expert mouth take control, pushing him backwards, climbing into his lap. Vaughn catches him with his teeth by accident, and it's all he can do not to make a sound when Rhys nips at his lower lip as revenge.

"You can stop now," Niko says loudly.

"Aww. They're having fun, babe."

"Yeah, but the bar for dares is like, _super_ high now."

When Rhys finally pulls away with a satisfied smirk and unfocussed eyes, it takes Vaughn a moment to realise he’s leaning after him, and that’s when he knows he’s completely and utterly screwed. Breathing hard, he presses the back of one hand to his mouth and tries not to make eye contact with anyone.

“Alright, bro,” Rhys purrs. “Truth or dare?”

The rest of the game is a blur. Between the cider, the vodka that materialises from an unknown freezer and - most intoxicating of all - the memory that won't stop torturing him, he can't think. Every time Rhys meets his eyes they linger for a moment too long and something inside him jolts; he looks away only to be caught by Courtney's questioning gaze.

"I should go," Vaughn says abruptly, standing up too fast and feeling his head spin. He stumbles - but a second later Rhys is alongside him to catch him, and he falls into the freshly laundered comfort of his hoodie.

The rest of the room ceases to exist.

"Are you okay?" Rhys says softly.

"I'm fine, I...I'm just gonna head back to the dorm and get some sleep." But when he tries to move across the room, his friend refuses to let go.

"I'm taking you."

Vaughn hears muffled apologies and goodbyes and the next thing he knows, the crisp night air is pawing at his face, trying to revive him. He takes a deep breath and lets it fill his chest. It brings him back enough to at least recognise the driveway.

"Really, I'm fine," he mumbles. With his senses coming back, the memories are right behind. He needs to be alone. He needs time to think, to fight down the spikes in his pulse every time he catches a hint of vanilla.

He _really_ needs a cold shower.

"I was getting bored anyway," says Rhys, and even though Vaughn is pretty sure he can walk on his own he lets his friend slip an arm around his waist and hold him close for support. He rests his head on Rhys' shoulder as they wander home, focussing on writing the moment to memory forever. He's afraid of waking up knowing only that something precious is gone.

"Your friends are nice," he offers.

"I knew they'd like you. Y'know, I've talked about you _soooo_ much." Rhys punctuates his sentence with a sweep of his free hand. "They're probably kind of relieved that you're real."

Vaughn pushes his glasses up his nose. "Heh. They probably expected someone taller. And thinner."

"You're fun size!" It's his usual response, but he says it with such affection that Vaughn believes it this time.

They drift through an empty park, the night punctuated by distant car horns and the rustling of trees. Close to home, when their steps become more purposeful, they switch to holding hands. Rhys' hand is warm, almost hot in Vaughn's and their fingers trace playfully against each other while he tells stories of social intrigue. It's nice. Vaughn wishes it could last.

The dorm hallway is deserted: the early sleepers are silent, the all-night revellers are gone. The light bulb above their door flickers, as always. Rhys turns to him.

"Listen. About earlier…"

And there it is. His heart sinks and he braces himself. Here comes the monkey's paw, the flipside of a dream come true: knowing exactly what you're missing once it's gone.

"Was that okay?"

His thought process stumbles to a halt.

"Huh?"

Rhys glances down nervously. "Y'know, I got a little caught up in everything, and I just - it didn't bother you, or anything, did it?"

"I…" Vaughn's mouth is dry. He clears his throat. "No, it was, uh...fun, actually."

"Really?" His friend's face lights up in an instant. "I wasn't sure if you were into it."

"I didn't know what to do," he confesses, guilty and relieved at the same time. Mostly it just feels good to have something out in the open, for once. "I haven't, y'know, had much practice."

Vaughn reaches for the doorknob. Rhys rests his hand on top before he can open it, a sleazy grin spreading across his face.

"We could, if you wanted to." He bites his lip suggestively. "Practise, that is."

Vaughn's eyes go wide and his heart skips several beats. This wasn't part of any plan. This wasn't even part of any fantasy - he'd felt it'd be disrespectful to let it get that far. But now they're falling through the doorway just inches apart, eyes locked on each other as Rhys cups his cheek, leaning in close. If all he has is this night, then he'll take it.

He looks into Rhys' warm brown eyes, searching for something he can't quite define. Then the light behind them flickers and goes out, and six feet worth of lanky computer science major collapses in his arms.

"Bro?" Vaughn whispers in a panic that subsides the moment Rhys' limp body starts to snore. He holds it in place for a moment, waiting for his thoughts to catch up.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

With a little bit of strength and an unfortunate amount of experience, Vaughn's able to manoeuvre his friend over to his unmade bed and half-push, half-roll him into the recovery position amidst the blankets.

He envies his peaceful sleep.


	2. Truth

The world reconstructs itself slowly. Rhys registers all his limbs and their approximate positions, followed by the stale, sticky feeling that comes with sleeping in his clothes. His brain is drip-feeding him flashes of the night before, like it knows he can't handle everything at once. He knows right away that something is waiting in ambush at the edge of recall, hovering like a wasp. Based on experience, he’ll just have to wait for it to come back and haunt him.

He holds off on opening his eyes as long as possible, trying to guess the time based on the colour of his eyelids. It’s early. Or it’s late. The odds are about fifty-fifty.

He tries to untwist his neck without moving and fails. The first hammer blow strikes the inside of his skull.

_Morning, dumbass._

"Uuuuurgh."

It's a tragic, ungraceful sound, and he allows one eyelid to open just a crack to make sure nobody heard. He's in his own bed, which is a good start even if he doesn't remember how he got back there. Across the room, Vaughn's bed is empty, the sheets flat and orderly and the blanket perfectly aligned.

Vaughn. Shit.

The floodgates open and the memories hit him full force. He remembers Vaughn's eyes, wide and nervous as he leaned over him - the taste of cider on his tongue as he climbed into his lap - the cheering of his friends fading into the background as instinct took over…

_Yeah, remember Vaughn? "The only pure thing on this whole stupid campus," right?_

He’s done it. After all these years, he’s finally pushed his best friend _(better half, moral center, long-suffering guardian angel)_ to the limit. And for what? Attention? Approval?

_Good job, idiot. Hope it was worth it._

He parks that thought as his stomach lurches for an entirely different reason. He makes a deal with his conscience: they’ll talk later, once he’s sure they won’t be interrupted by a tidal wave of hangover nausea. Gathering his thoughts, he decides the first step is going to be sweet, sweet caffeine. It's easier said than done; he crawls inch by inch like a wounded soldier onto the floor, grateful that he's already squeezed into his skinny jeans.

Taking a deep breath, he gets to his feet, ready to face the world. Then he spots his shoes from last night placed next to the door, lined up side by side to millimetre precision instead of tossed across the carpet, and buries his face in his hands. He's _so_ fucked.

The air outside is cold and damp, a light fog pooling in the football field and lending the buildings more ambience than they deserve. The coffee cart has just opened, his favourite barista stacking shrink-wrapped muffins in a tray. She's more tattoo than human and there's a rumour she's banned from the medical faculty, but Rhys likes her. She always remembers his order and never judges him for it.

"Hey, Fork," says Kat. "Didn't know you were capable of getting up this early."

"Special occasion," he answers dully. "Extra caramel shot, please."

"You look so miserable, I won't even charge you for it." Her eyes sweep the empty space around him and she raises an eyebrow. "Where's Teaspoon?"

"He's…" Rhys feels his face crumple before he can assemble an appropriate excuse. "I don't know."

He watches Kat open her mouth to say something, eternally grateful when she stops herself and puts on an encouraging smile instead. "Well, when he comes crawling back here I'll let you know."

He drops a handful of coins and a dollar bill in her tip jar. It’s not like he needs the money, now that he never wants to drink again.

Rhys finally checks his ECHO messages. The group chat quickly moved on from demanding to know if he made it back safely to planning his funeral, where Niko will apparently perform a special version of Candle In The Wind. Courtney has sent him several strings of question marks in their private channel. Whatever _that_ means. He’ll wring an apology out of her later, once he figures out exactly how bad things are. At least then it won't all be his fault.

Hunched over with his face in his phone, he almost wipes out someone going the other way.

"Hey, watch where you're -"

The voice cuts out, and he realises it's Vaughn. His friend shrinks before his eyes, trying to hide inside himself the way he always does around strangers. The way he stopped doing around Rhys. It's another kick in the guts.

"Hey," says Rhys, trying to form a human-looking smile.

"Hey." Vaughn looks off sideways, holding his books close to his chest. After an excruciating few seconds, he clears his throat. "Good coffee?"

"You know it." Rhys tries to point both finger guns at him, but with his hands full he realises too late that he just looks ridiculous. "Studying?"

"Yeah, I...yeah."

The silence is wide and deep, and Rhys flings himself into it before he can stop.

"So...how are you feeling? I can get you something at Kat's. We could go halves on an egg and bacon roll. Or egg and sausage. Or one of those bowl things!" He bounces on his feet as if it will make him look enthusiastic instead of manic. "I don't know what's in them, but they're meant to be healthy, we could try -"

"Thanks, bro, but I'm not hungry." Vaughn pushes his glasses up his nose. "Anyway, I gotta go. I'll see you...later."

As he walks away, Vaughn throws one last forlorn look over his shoulder. Rhys could swear he feels a part of his soul split off and evaporate, the coffee in his hand suddenly cold.

 _"It's the rules,"_ his brain imitates in a high-pitched voice. _You've never deserved him._

He flashes back to kissing Vaughn. Even though the memory is hazy, the feeling is undimmed: the rush of that first, hesitant touch, the electric thrill as Vaughn responded - an unspoken connection for just one moment in time.  Even now, in his state, it's enough to make his heart skip a beat.

 _So you_ enjoyed _ruining your friendship! Good to know._

"Shut up," Rhys mumbles. The pain in his head has subsided into something duller, more existential. It's not an improvement. Overcome by exhaustion, there's nothing to do but head back to the shelter of his bed.

It takes half an hour of lying down with his eyes screwed shut to figure out sleep isn't going to happen, but in that time Rhys figures out his plan. He'll do the noble thing and fall on his sword. He'll move to another dorm - another _college_ \- if it means he'll never upset Vaughn again.

With the transfer form half-completed, he yanks his suitcase from under his bed, and starts picking up his clothes from where they lie scattered on the floor and wedged into gaps in the furniture. There's a shirt he doesn't recognise at first. Before he can think better of it, he lifts it to his face and inhales the familiar scent of Vaughn's spray deodorant. He throws it aside, lips pressed together tightly as if that will keep his feelings inside.

Fifteen minutes later when Vaughn throws the door open, hair in a mess and panting like he's just run up all five sets of stairs, he finds Rhys curled up on the floor sobbing quietly with the shirt clutched in both hands.

The fire in Vaughn's eyes fizzles out as he takes in the sight. "That's…" he trails off, his train of thought clearly derailed. "Mine."

"Yeah. Sorry," Rhys says thickly, holding it up for his friend to take. He hopes he didn't wipe his nose on it.

"Thanks." Vaughn stands over him for a few moments, then finally breaks the awkward silence. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"I was...packing."

He frowns. "Okay. Sure. Next question. _Why_ are you packing?"

Rhys scrambles to his feet, trying not to wobble too much in case it aggravates his hangover again. He almost goes to put his hands on Vaughn's shoulders but decides against it at the last second, leaving him standing in an awkward position.

_Smooth._

"I know I've screwed things up, bro. I've hurt you. And I am, like, _super_ sorry." He clasps his fingers together in supplication. "But it won’t happen again. I’ll leave you alone.”

"I'm..." Vaughn pinches the bridge of his nose like he does when he's working on a particularly messy integration problem. It’s adorable, even when he’s angry. Scratch that - especially when he’s angry. "Rhys, I _told_ you it was fun. I was worried _you_ hated it! And I came back here to tell you that -"

He stops mid-sentence, suddenly mortified, and looks at his shoes. When that doesn’t satisfy him, he stares out the window with great focus and determination.

“- that maybe I should be the one moving out.”

Rhys flops backwards onto his bed. “Now I’m really confused,” he sniffs.

Vaughn takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I...really liked kissing you,” he says at last, resigned.

“I did too,” says Rhys.

“You don’t understand.” There’s an edge of exasperation in his friend’s voice. “I’d - I’d thought about it sometimes, you know? And then it actually happened, and now I can’t think about anything else. And...you shouldn’t have to, y’know, deal with that. Ugh, crap. I shouldn't even have said anything. I'm sorry.”

Rhys props himself up on both elbows as he tries to process the last few minutes. He catches a glimpse of an idea, afraid to look at it too closely in case it disappears. "I don't want you to leave," he says quietly.

"Save your pity, Rhys." Vaughn sounds bitter, but mostly he just sounds tired. "You're too cool to be hanging out with a loser like me anyway. You've got...options."

"What? _No!"_ It stings, hearing him talk about himself that way. "You're worth _ten_ of anyone else. And today I saw what my life would be like without you. I want to be around you. I want -"

It comes into focus then, and there’s no looking away from it. He swallows, his mouth dry, and looks Vaughn in the eye as the question finally coalesces in his mind.

"Can I kiss you again? You know, to see what it's like when we're sober. Because…"

He can't find the words so instead he stretches out his hand, pleading with his whole being. Vaughn stares for a few seconds, but he takes it, and then they’re standing in front of each other, close enough that Rhys can feel the heat from his skin. He looks nervous - not like he did at the party, cornered and afraid, but like he's about to take the first step on a tightrope. They wait, balanced on the edge; then Vaughn lifts himself up on his toes, closes his eyes, and kisses Rhys.

It’s only the tiniest contact, but his lips tingle and warmth spreads like sunlight through his body until all the tension is gone. This is not how it feels with other people: this is honest, without pretense, enough in itself. For once, he doesn’t feel the need to do anything other than let it happen. Vaughn takes the lead, reaching for his other hand, and he follows without hesitation.

When the moment passes they rest their foreheads together, hands clasped in the space between them, and nothing else in the world matters.

"Wow," Rhys exhales finally. "We should - I mean, I'd like to do that more often. If you’re interested."

"How often are we talking?" Vaughn’s smile is wide and radiant. Rhys thinks he’d do anything to see it more often.

"Several times a day for the indefinite future?" he answers. His friend laughs, pulling him into a tight hug, and this time their kiss is rushed and clumsy as Vaughn makes up for his inexperience with enthusiasm. Rhys couldn’t love him and his iron grip any more.

They’re interrupted by a loud chime from Rhys’ phone. With supreme reluctance, he pulls away to glance at the screen.

“Huh. Courtney wants to know if we’re free tonight. Both of us. For some reason.”

Vaughn places a hand on his jaw, turning his attention back where it belongs. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that we’re busy.”

He raises an eyebrow at the unfamiliar confident look on Vaughn’s face. It suits him.

“Yeah,” says Rhys, his mouth dry. “We’re busy.”


End file.
